


To Wake With You

by ValeCimmerian



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValeCimmerian/pseuds/ValeCimmerian
Summary: Aziraphale wakes with Crowley





	To Wake With You

The first thing he noticed when his eyes flickered open was the sun. He'd forgotten to pull the heavy blue curtain across the window in the haze of last night, and the mid morning sun was lazily spilling through. The light drifted through in gilded beams catching the spinning particles of the room, and coming to rest on the still face of his Crowley. The gentle sun lit his hair on fire in a gorgeous glow, framed the angles of his face that when awake were so on edge but softened with sleep. Aziraphale reached a soft hand out to run through Crowley's hair, feeling the warmth of the light there. 

Aziraphale lay on his side, soft covers on his bare chest, gazing at his demon while he slept, feeling the long limbs tangled among his own and the hand loosely holding his waist with fingers spread along soft skin. He took in every detail of Crowley that he could, the tiny snake tattoo by his ear, indents on his nose from wearing those uniquely round sunglasses for so long, the small wrinkle from where he smirked so often, and traced them with a feather-light finger. As Aziraphale's finger danced along the edge of Crowley's jaw, he moved and made a small sigh, opening his eyes to see Aziraphale smiling at him.  
'Now you're a sight for sore eyes angel.' Crowley's morning voice was low and quiet, reverberating through his chest and not disturbing the quiet space. Aziraphale smiled a little wider.  
'Good morning my dear.'   
'Good morning.' He kept his hand on Crowley's jaw, holding his face gently as the demon's sleepy eyes took him in, unruly curls aglow in a halo around his angel's head, a dark feather stuck to his shoulder, the pale skin smooth and warm to the touch when Crowley reached a hand to remove it. He turned his head slightly to press a kiss to Aziraphale's palm. Aziraphale melted a little. 

Crowley's hand remained there, drifting idly over the bare skin of his angel. The casual touch sent shocks and shivers down his spine. Aziraphale shifted himself beneath the covers, pale blue and soft. The bed was at Crowley's request, after nights spent curled up crooked on the crushed velvet, necks at an awkward angle, elbows in the soft crevices of bodies, lips caught on teeth in the unconcious shifting, and once the unceremonious slide of a body to the floor followed by a giggle and a yellow- eyed glare. Aziraphale was never one for sleep, but he found that with a couple of glasses of red warning his veins and the weight of his demon dozing in his arms there was something pleasant about the still, softly stirring breath of a nap. Many an afternoon had slipped away unnoticed when the two were like this; gently touching, held in one another's arms and trust, the sun creeping away to leave the room settled in the hidden twilight.


End file.
